Dagger's Edge (Shadow series) (6 page)

To Rabin’s and Jael’s surprise, good balance came naturally to Jael. Larissa was gratified to learn that Mist and Shadow had already given Jael a fair grounding in how to control a fall—the numerous accidents that seemed to befall her had made this an early necessity—and Shadow had taught Jael a few nasty back-alley moves as well.

“Those moves can be countered, though, by anybody with training in dirty fighting,” Larissa warned. “You can’t always count on surprising your opponent with unfamiliar moves. There’s no substitute for skill and real experience. In the meantime, though, a few nasty tricks might save your life, or at least buy you a few extra moments.”

By noon Jael was starting to regret committing to the extra lessons. Rabin tended to take pity on Jael’s small size and less burly limbs, but Larissa showed no such scruples. By the time Larissa allowed Jael to stop for dinner, Jael was bruised, sore, grimed, and sweaty, and thoroughly exhausted.

“That was a good workout,” Larissa admitted. Jael was gratified to see that the woman was panting and sweaty herself. “Tomorrow morning we’ll try it again.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Jael repeated, relieved. Apparently she was reprieved for the afternoon.

“Larissa will only be here in the mornings,” Rabin said. “In the afternoons I’ll work with you on your swordplay, and see if you can’t learn to throw those daggers—”

“Oh.” Jael sighed miserably.

“—but not today,” Rabin finished, grinning at her. “You’re out of practice. Do some exercises to loosen your muscles this afternoon, and take a hot bath, and we’ll see what you can do tomorrow.”

Jael was too sore to do anything but take Rabin’s advice. She soaked in one of the castle baths for almost an hour. She had started to doze off in the hot water when her mother entered, dressed in the ordinary tunic and trousers she favored. Father was handling the official business today, then.

“People have drowned, falling asleep in the bath,” Donya said mildly, sitting down cross-legged at the edge of the bathing pool. She handed Jael a goblet.

“Thank you.” The cellar-cold fruit juice felt wonderful

flowing down Jael’s throat.

“I was watching you out the window,” Donya said. “You were working hard. You did well, too, for your first lesson in a new style under a new master. Mistress.”

Jael looked up surprisedly. Her mother’s praise came seldom and hard, especially in combat training.

Donya reached over and pulled one of the fur rugs to the edge of the bathing pool.

“Come on out,” she said. “I’ll rub your back.”

Jael stretched out on the fur and tried not to wince as Donya’s steel-hard fingers dug into her aching muscles.

“So why this sudden interest in combat training?” Donya asked. “Extra lessons, new techniques, and I’ve never seen you work so hard at it before.”

“I never managed to do anything right before,” Jael said wryly. “This, at least, I think I can learn. I hope.”

“Mmm.” Donya scooped some pungent-smelling ointment out of a clay pot and rubbed it into the skin of Jael’s sore arms and shoulders. “You know, Shady’s a lot better at this than I am. After a battle she used to mix up the most horrible-smelling goops to smear on me, but she could all but rub the bruises away. In the mornings it seemed like I was the only warrior who didn’t wake up groaning and creaking in the joints.”

“How could you have enjoyed that?” Jael asked curiously. “Risking your life, I mean, and getting all hacked up.” She thought to herself that just one morning of practice fighting with wooden blades was quite damaging enough.

“Well, if you’re good,” Donya laughed, “you don’t get ‘all hacked up’ as much as the one you’re fighting. I don’t know that I actually ‘enjoyed’ it in the same way I enjoy a good tumble or a ride on my horse on a fine day. But there’s a kind of pride in doing something well, in proving to yourself that you have the skill. Something about gambling your life on your ability—well, it gives a kind of thrill. Not really at the moment, when all you can think about is staying alive, but later, when you think about it—I can’t explain it better than that.”

“I guess I’ve never been that good at anything,” Jael said glumly. She wondered if she would ever be good enough at anything to risk her life to prove it—or if she would ever want to.

“Well, some people seem to be born knowing what they’re for, or what they’re good at,” Donya mused, “and some people take years and years. Mother used to tell me that I played with toy swords before I learned to use a privy. Shadow, on the other hand, wandered around the Heartwood not knowing what to do with herself for over a century. So you’re not too odd, Jaellyn. I’m just worried about you.”

Jael sat up.

“Why?”

Donya looked her daughter squarely in the eyes.

“This sudden concern with learning to fight,” Donya said slowly. “Nothing’s happened, has it, to make you think you’re in danger? Anything that’s happened in town, maybe, that you haven’t wanted to tell me, or that you’ve heard?”

So
that
was what this mother-to-daughter talk was about! Perversely, Jael was annoyed, and then felt guilty at her own annoyance. It was
her
her mother was worried about; her question wasn’t just a way of getting news out of her daughter.

“No, nothing like that,” Jael said, reaching for her clothes. “Aunt Shadow gave me a lecture, that’s all.”

“Well, obviously it did more good than the lectures I’ve given you.” Donya shook her head. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. You’re sure there isn’t something else that you should tell me?”

Tell you that I want to leave Allanmere, creep away someday to see the world?

“No, really,” Jael said. “Nobody’s threatened me. Nobody’s said anything—anything new, anyway. People mutter when they see me. Sometimes they scowl at me.” Once someone, anonymous in the crowd, had stuck out a foot to trip her, and once Jael had been hit by a rock that she wasn’t certain had been thrown up by a cart, but...“That’s all.”

“All right.” Donya sighed unhappily. “All right.” She was silent for a long moment. At last, she said awkwardly, “Is there anything at all I can do to help?”

Jael looked up, surprised at the hesitancy in Donya’s voice.

“I don’t see that there’s anything to be done,” she said. “I mean, I just have to wait and see, don’t I? See what Grandmother Celene says about whether I have some magery in me or not, see whether I can learn this new type of combat, see if I can do anything useful. There’s nothing else
to
do.”

“Right.” Donya sighed again, then sprang to her feet decisively. “That’s all, then.” She turned and strode out of the room.

Jael wiped off as much of the smelly salve as she could, wondering at her mother’s mood as she walked back to her room. Normally Mother was happiest on the days when Argent sat in audience.

From her favorite seat on her windowsill, Jael could hear the clashing of metal from the practice field. It was far past time for the twins’ lessons, so either some of the guards were practicing, or Mother had coaxed either Rabin or one of the guard captains to practice with her. Jael skipped down the hall to one of the east windows where she had a clear view of the practice field.

To Jael’s delight, it was Donya and Rabin on the practice field, and Jael happily curled up on the window ledge. She loved watching her mother practice.

Donya and Rabin were in full armor as always, because they fought with their own swords, instead of the wooden beginner’s sword Jael used or the blunted, pointless practice swords the twins had advanced to. Afternoon sunlight flashed off of bright steel, and the sounds of the blades striking armor or each other was like a song. Donya and Rabin danced to that music, every step perfectly placed, every movement responsive to the other’s movements, every cut or parry perfectly answered. Jael was mesmerized by their skill, thinking wishfully that she could never equal it—

Suddenly strong hands pushed her. Just as Jael, caught entirely off guard, started to tumble out the window, a second set of hands grasped her tunic, pulling her back. Even before Jael had recovered from the surprise, the giggles behind her told her who her assailants were.

“Rabin says you can’t let people sneak up on you,” Markus scolded, still giggling.

“You could be assinated,” Mera added somberly, her pale eyes twinkling.

“That’s ‘assassinated,’” Jael said irritably. “And you both are going to be assassinated if you ever do that again. Now leave me alone. I’m watching Mother practice.”

“You
should be practicing,” Markus said.

“It wouldn’t do any good,” Mera contradicted merrily. “Jael’s too stumble-footed for swordplay.”

“If you two don’t leave me alone,” Jael warned, “I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Mera crowed. “We can beat you any day, armed or unarmed.”

It was true, too, and Jael hated it. She ground her teeth and slid from her window perch, stalking down the hall. To her utter disgust, the twins followed.

“Where are you going?” Markus asked. “It’s almost suppertime.”

“Unless you don’t want to come to supper,” Mera said, giggling. “Father has commissioned new light globes for the table.”

“And cook says what’s the point in cooking a good meal just to end up full of glass.”

“Besides, Father’s still talking with two members of the council. They’ll probably be dining with us.”

In desperation, Jael retreated to her room. The twins stood outside the closed door for a few minutes, giggling and taunting, but when they could elicit no response, they grew bored and the sounds stopped. Jael knew the twins better than to be fooled by this ploy, however, and she waited. Sure enough, a few minutes later she heard the footsteps receding down the hall as the twins abandoned their game. While she waited, she pulled out pen, ink, and parchment and scrawled a hasty note—”Mother, Father, gone to meet Aunt Shadow and Grandmother. Jaellyn.”

Jael waited a few minutes longer, then inched the door open slowly. The twins were indeed gone; the footsteps she’d heard hadn’t been Mera using her budding magery. Jael used one of her old eating knives to pin the note to the door and slipped through the halls, carefully avoiding the servants.

She’d have to hurry before the twins returned to her room, found the note, and went tattling to Mother or Father. Jael would get in trouble enough when she got back for leaving without permission.

The door to the room where the Gate had been placed was locked, of course, but Jael had a copy of the key, and the magical lock was set to recognize her; Donya had insisted, as a condition of Jael’s fostering in the Heartwood, that Jael be able to return at any time, night or day, should there be a need. Jael had never gone through the Gate alone before, though. Donya or Argent had always accompanied her, and Jael realized that they must have worried that her unusually bad luck might somehow affect even the Gate. Now that she thought about it, the idea gave Jael pause, too. Hurriedly, before she could change her mind, Jael took a deep breath and stepped forward—

“Jaellyn, what are you doing?”

Jael sighed and stopped where she was, turning. Argent stood in the doorway.

“I was just—”

“I know.” Argent held up her note. “I was just coming for you and the twins. Change your clothes and come down to the dining hall. There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

“Yes, Father.” Jael sighed again and trudged back to her room, hoping she had something fairly presentable to wear. Father sometimes invited influential merchants, nobility from other cities, or elves from other parts of the land to supper, and on those occasions he did insist that the whole family attend.

Jael rifled through her clothing, grimacing. She hadn’t kept up much of a wardrobe of finery, and most of it had met with the disasters that seemed to follow her around town. No matter how carefully the seamstresses measured and remeasured and gathered and tucked, she always looked rumpled and disheveled in even the nicest clothes, and she flatly refused to wear gowns; she inevitably found some way to trip over them every few steps. Irritably she pulled out a tunic and trousers that were in at least fair condition and jerked them on.

Jael raked a comb through her curls, grimacing at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her pointed ears large and obvious and twitching in her agitation, her bronze eyes strange. Maybe her tunic was a little tighter across her chest, maybe not. Probably not. Jael growled and gave her tunic one last tug as she ran down the hall.

The first thing Jael noticed was that the light globes in the dining hall had been replaced by lamps and candles. Jael tried to tell herself that the new light globes were probably not ready yet, but a bitter part of herself knew that the new light globes had not been used so that there would be no unpleasant incident with a guest at supper.

“There you are, Jaellyn.” Argent took her arm, leading Jael back to where Donya, hurriedly washed and formally attired, was conversing with someone. Markus and Mera were standing by, quiet and polite for once. “Lord Urien, my eldest daughter, Jaellyn. Jaellyn, I’m honored to present Lord Urien, Senior High Priest of the Temple of Baaros in Calidwyn.”

Jael swallowed her surprise and attempted a curtsy; her foot slipped and she almost fell, only to be rescued by a cool hand taking hers. Jael hurriedly regained her footing and looked up in surprise into a pair of twinkling black eyes as her rescuer salvaged the gesture by raising her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles elegantly.

“The honor is entirely mine, High Lord Argent,” Urien answered, his eyes smiling complicitly at Jael. He was pale as a sage who spent too much time in his cellar library. His face was lean and angular, delicate but not quite effeminate, narrow-lipped and vaguely exotic. Fine black hair feathered around his face in straight wisps. He wore the dark blue of the Temple of Baaros, but instead of priestly robes he was dressed in a House surcoat. Jael didn’t recognize the arms—of course not, if he was from Calidwyn—but they had the general look of a mercantile house.

“Lord Urien is an administrator of the Reform Temple of Baaros in Calidwyn and a representative of the main temple in Loroval,” Donya explained. “The Temple of Baaros received my messages and sent him to reform the temple here in Allanmere.”